


Drink The River Dry

by Aspenaire



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:44:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aspenaire/pseuds/Aspenaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was uncomplicated, really - Cato came here to win. If only everything had stayed that simple...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Play Is The Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction in the GH fandom. I originally posted it on ff.net, but I guessed then I could post it here as well. Before you read it, though, I should warn you: I like to torture people. I'm not a good person. So you proceed at your own risk.

The train speeds up and Cato shivers with excitement. He looks around the carriage, searching desperately for something to drink and spots a bottle of wine. Ah, yes. Even though at the Academy there weren’t many occasions to try alcohol, Cato likes wine best: it’s as red as blood but not quite as sweet. He relishes the taste of it. He should have broken the rules more frequently back at District 2, he muses with some regret, but now it’s irrelevant. For the next couple of days, he will break the rules hard and fast and no-one will be able to stop him. 

 

The door opens and Cato’s attention shifts to his fellow tribute. He didn’t pay much attention to her at the Reaping, he just caught her name, Clove, knowing that he’ll have plenty of time to work her out later. 

 

Clove’s tall, with dark hair, but nothing much. She’s wearing a gun-metal grey expensive dress that matches the color of her eyes. She sits down on the sofa, and tilts her head to the side. 

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cato,” she extends her hand, sounding almost pleasant. Cato grins his predatory grin and, because he’s in the mood, replies, “No, the pleasure is _all_ mine”.

 

She rolls her eyes, and no one has ever done that to Cato before. _Interesting_ , he thinks, because she doesn’t seem to be afraid. Back home, he had quite a reputation. He heard what people said about him: Cato is a big-balled, crazy-eyed, motherfucking killing machine, and if you stand on his way, he will claw into your chest, tear out your heart, and send goodbye letters to your family. And he lived up to that description. Parents warned their children about him. Other Careers feared and respected him. It all flattered him, really. 

 

But this girl, with her cat-like moves and smooth tongue, seems blatantly relaxed and unnerved by his presence. Cato’s not an idiot. Clove might not be afraid, but she’s a true Career. She is _competition_ and he’ll be keeping an eye on her just as she’ll be keeping an eye on him, he has no doubt about that. 

 

“That,” says Clove, like she is reading his mind, “is probably true”.

 

Before he has a chance to make this conversation more entertaining, Anthea, their escort, bursts into the room. She’s all excited, too excited for Cato’s taste. 

 

“Oh, I see you’ve already befriended each other, how marvelous!” She paces around the carriage. “But you haven’t heard the news! Nothing like that has ever happened before!”

 

“Oh, do tell us, Anthea” drawls Clove, feigning interest, her attention entirely focused on the silver knives laid out evenly on the table. 

 

“District 12 has had its first volunteer since, oh, I don’t know, ages! It was all really rather extraordinary. She stepped in, you see, to save her sister from being reaped, the poor thing. It was such a brave thing to do, and so sad at the same time, because her family is, naturally, devastated…”

 

Now, that is interesting, thinks Cato, Anthea’s words fading into the background. District 12? Cato has been there once, when his uncle won the Games, a good couple of years back. And a volunteer? He’ll believe it when he sees it.

 

“… and the Capitol is absolutely thrilled, and well, who wouldn’t be? Naturally, she’s on everybody’s lips.”

 

Cato is mildly irritated. Of course, everyone would be talking about her, but his irritation soon fades. Anyway, it’s not like she’s going to survive for long, those from 12 never do. They are all weaklings and that girl probably never held a knife or any other weapon in her hand, excluding maybe a fork.. As soon as she’s dead, everyone will forget about her.

 

“Do you want to watch the recap?” asks Anthea in a flippant manner. Now that she delivered the news of the day, she busies herself with eating a creamy cake in yellowish color that makes Cato sick.

 

Clove shoots her a look that could kill. 

 

“And waste my time? No, thanks, I’ve got better things to do than watch children with tearful expressions, scared out of their lives. They always behave like poor little squirrels. Honestly, someone should just kill them and save Panem all the embarrassment. ”

 

“Oh, Clove, dear, you have no compassion! But they’re not as brave as you are, of course. You are completely different league. You are made to be winners after all!”

 

Clove doesn’t seem like she heard any of what Anthea has just said. 

 

“Well, suit yourself, Clove. I’ll watch the Reapings in my room.”

 

“Have fun, Cato” she smirks and exits the carriage.

 

Cato picks up the wine nonchalantly. He doesn’t want anyone to accompany him anyway. Besides, he likes to know everything about his competition and who knows, maybe that girl from Twelve might just be worth his time. It would be foolish to disregard any possibility. He rises from the sofa, and goes to his room, greeting Brutus and Enobaria on the way. They haven’t spoken with each other yet, about the rules and the sponsors and all that shit, but they all know there’s no point in that, really. Cato was raised for this. He knows exactly what he came here for.

 

He watches the bits from the Reaping on the screen with moderate interest, restraining himself from rewinding the tape straight to the footage from District 12, because even if he doesn’t want to admit this, that girl really picked his interest. Tributes from 1 are not a surprise, Careers of course, looking like they’re at each other’s throats. Then he sees Clove and himself, steady and calm with the crowd cheering in front of them, already looking like Victors. Then a footage of some children that remind him of miserable prey, well, aren’t they just that, he thought. Halfway through, Cato is so restless and so bored he almost regrets the whole idea. 

 

“… Primrose Everdeen!”

 

A shrill voice interrupts his thoughts – it’s the District’s escort, Effie Trinket, and honestly, Cato hasn’t seen a more ridiculous outfit in his entire life. Peacekeepers usher a girl towards the stage, she doesn’t even look for a 12 year-old. Cato almost pities her. Well, not really, he corrects himself. He doesn’t pity her. She’s just another nameless tribute scared out of her life. The girl manages to make a only a few steps, when another girl runs from the crowd screaming, “I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!”

 

That’s when Cato sees her. She’s tall and skinny, her long dark hair carefully styled in some kind of a plait. She stands there, her chin held high, defiance radiating from her physique. Her little sister is crying, and some guy picks her up and takes her back to the crowd, but Cato cannot bring himself care for those details. He stares intently at the screen where he can read her face like it was an open book, fear and uncertainty and guilt and rushed decision written all over, but there is something else. There is no surrender in the way she walks and Cato feels something else unknown, something with claws and fangs, something deliciously sharp in her eyes that creeps under his skin. Well, look at that, she’s a _fighter_ , he thinks, and his heart starts to beat faster.

 

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” asks the escort, puffing her powdered cheeks.

 

Her tone is flat, her fists clenched so hard her hands are almost shaking, when she answers, “Katniss Everdeen.”

 

“Well, then, Katniss Everdeen”, Cato tries the taste of her name on his tongue and it burns just a little, just as he expected. “Very nice to meet you. And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor.”


	2. To Burn With Her

Cato still feels the adrenaline pumping in his veins when he returns to his suite after the opening ceremony. Clove follows him through the door, ripping her costume to shreds with deadly precision. Cato cannot help but picture that girl on the arena: smiling viciously and cutting the skin of some poor tribute into even, bloody slices, and oh, it’s a beautiful, scary sight. He glances at Anthea, who unsuccessfully tries to stop Clove from ruining the dress even further, but it’s a lost cause. It looks like a roadkill covered in golden glitter. 

 

Brutus and Enobaria are already at the table, eating dinner, but before they have a chance to speak, Clove, now only in her see-through underskirt, vents her fury on a wall.

 

“I can’t believe this! That worthless bitch from 12, how dare she steal my show! I swear, I will kill her, I will rip her heart out, I will bloody _skin_ her-“

 

“Clove, honey, there’s no need to be so emotional about-“

 

“Emotional? I’m not fucking emotional, I am fucking angry! And take that piece of shit away from me!” Clove send the dress flying at Anthea who looks like she’s going to cry. 

 

“Language, Clove,” reminds her Enobaria. 

 

Clearly, Clove has issues. Cato gets why she feels betrayed - she’s not used to being in the shadow. He remembers how she was shooting dirty looks towards District 12’s tributes, clearly angry that they had outdone them. Clove may have been covered in glitter but that murderous expression on her face implied there would be nothing glittery in the way she planned to kill Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. 

 

But they were quite a pair, Cato has to admit. He remembers the image he saw on the screen above his head. Everdeen, aflame in a dark dress, was glazing like an otherworldly, exquisite bird, her eyes were pointed directly at the camera… it was a sight so hypnotizing he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Never mind the blond guy, the crowd on either sides of the walkway lost it completely for Katniss. People of Panem were throwing flowers at her, screaming in a frenzy _the girl on fire_ , desperate to touch her. And then Katniss smiled, baring her teeth, and Cato felt the heat travel up his spine. It was like a fire turning him to ash, tearing him apart, burning in his veins, and suddenly, he wanted to _burn with her_ -

 

“Oh, calm down, Clove,” Brutus interrupts his little reverie in a harsh tone. Cato takes a deep breath, because it’s suddenly too hot. He mentally slaps himself for loosing control like that. He shifts in his chair and takes a few sips of water, hoping that nobody, especially Clove, noticed that his pants got a bit too tight. 

 

“You’ll have plenty of time to show off in the next few days,” continues Brutus. 

 

Clove just huffs with annoyance and assaults her salad with the fork.

 

“Just don’t expect me to be nice to Roma and Esca, they sucked today,” she still looks wind up and tense. “Why didn’t we get a decent stylist like 12? I bet they did it on purpose.”

 

“Listen, no-one expected those underdogs from 12 to literally outshine everyone during the opening ceremony”, continues Brutus. “District 1 is not happy either. But you still have an advantage 12 can’t even dream of. They might have caught the Gamemakers’ attention, but that’s why you have to do excel during individual evaluations and your interviews. And rake in some kills as soon as the bloodbath begins.”

 

“Nothing turns the Gamemakers on like a sight of a fresh spleen dripping with blood, believe me” croons Enobaria. Oh, Cato believes her, all right. She never talks much, but when she does open her mouth, she scares the shit out of him. And he doesn’t get _scared_. He knows one thing, though: he would rather have Enobaria as his ally rather as an enemy. He doesn’t need convincing she could be very, very deadly. 

 

“Going already?” asks Clove, chewing on the lamb. She, on the other hand, seems to enjoy Enobaria’s company in a very twisted way. Which Cato cannot understand, but girls will be girls, no point in over thinking it. 

 

Cato sends her an apologetic grin. 

 

“Yeah, I want to rest before tomorrow’s training. See you,” Cato quickly grabs a scone and disappears in his room, eager to finally be alone.

 

He really must have been tired, because he can’t remember going to sleep. 

 

***

 

Cato wakes up at 5 am. He looks out of the window - Capitol is silent. He has one hour until the sunrise and that might just be enough for a quick run, but he decides against it. He sneaks back into the lounge, grabs something to eat and proceeds to the elevator. He knows that he’s not supposed to wander around and that _there’s always someone watching_ , as Brutus put it elegantly the day before, but screw that. Cato has never been a guy who cares too much for anything, especially not for the rules.

 

He presses “zero” on the control panel and soon the evelator’s door open to reveal a patio with a fountain. It’s peaceful, almost serene, and Cato fixes his gaze on the water. 

 

And then he hears it. The silent “bing” of the elevator, the doors opening, someone’s steps echoing through the hallway.

 

It’s a reflex - he immediately tenses up and hides behind the column anyway. The steps are getting closer and Cato casts a quick look towards the fountain. Of all the people he expected to see, he didn’t expect Katniss Everdeen. The odds are _definitely_ in his favor.

 

“Well, well,” he drawls, causing her to jump. “Isn’t this the famous Girl on Fire. Couldn’t sleep?”

 

“That’s none of your business.” she wears no makeup and her hair is let loose - a ripple of dark curls that makes her look somehow different from the burning image Cato still has in his memory. It makes her look almost fragile.

 

“On the contrary. What if someone sees you here?” asks Cato, taking a step closer. She doesn’t move an inch. “With me? What will people think?”

 

“I couldn’t care less,” she pauses, examining him. “Would you?”

 

“No,” he replies, having a moment of honesty. That girl truly brings out the worst of him. 

 

“I thought you would,” she states matter-of-factly. And then she asks out of the blue, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

 

He didn’t expect that.

 

“Please, that’s _absurd_ ,” he scoffs. 

 

“I did my homework, Cato. I know you’ve been in my district. Yes, we’ve met, I can remember now. Can’t you?”

 

That unsettles Cato a bit. What is she playing at? He is absolutely sure he’s never met her. He would have remembered. Who in their right mind would forget a girl like that? But that’s not him problem right now. She surprised him, he let his guard down and that just _doesn’t happen._

 

“Fine, I admit, I’ve been there. And you know what? I saw nothing but poverty, filth and miserable children,” he punctuates every word by taking another step closer. “It was all very unpleasant and pathetic-“

 

“Watch your mouth,” she spits, and oh, Cato likes that. This fiery attitude, this anger burning in her eyes, directed at him, he can see it all again. It is so easy to provoke her, almost too easy. It makes him drunk with power, and he wants more.

 

“I know exactly why you volunteered. It’s easier to die in the arena than die of hunger, and much more quicker,” he’s really close now, all he has to do is reach out to touch her. His words irritate her, irritate her fire, Cato can see the sparks in her eyes. “A quick end of a miserable existence…”

 

She smiles. She actually _smiles_. Cato can’t believe that. She has guts. This conversation is getting more interesting by the minute.

 

“I won’t give you the satisfaction. Besides, it’s a pity you don’t remember,” she finishes with a knowing expression written all over her face. 

 

“And why is that?” he blurts, cursing himself immediately. What is happening to him? He sounds like a naïve teenager who doesn’t know what he’s doing, except Cato knows exactly what he’s doing. So where he went wrong?

 

He doesn’t get a reply, however, because they hear someone’s steps, and in a blink of an eye, Katniss is gone and Cato hides behind the column. When the Peacekeeper is in a safe distance, Cato knows he has a problem. And damn him if he doesn’t solve it really soon, because otherwise... well. Things might get dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There's more of it, and I'll post the next ramaining chapters in the next few days.


	3. Sharp Words, Sharp Swords

In the training center, Cato is in his element. It’s been exactly two days since he last wielded a sword and he’s eager to feel again the comforting weight of metal in his hand. He’s really impressed by what the Capitol has to offer. Back at District 2, the choice wasn’t that limited, but this is everything he expected, and even more. There is any kind of weapon one could possibly imagine. 

 

Cato has had enough time to get to know his fellow tribute to risk a wild guess what would be Clove’s choice. You had to be blind to miss it. Clove is made of sharp edges. There is always something in her hands: silver cutlery slipping between her fingers, a pen, a pointed hair-slide in her hair, a toothpick between her teeth, a knife concealed in her boot. Knives are a little obsession of hers. 

 

Cato prefers swords. The object of his current affection is a beautiful, light blade that could effortlessly slice through bone. He hopes that he will find a blade like that in the arena. He reaches for the sword in one, swift movement. To Cato, swords are elegant, sublime, and deadly. They require absolute balance between body and movement, a skill which Cato has perfected for years. None of the tributes can outmatch him in that. No-one can. 

 

He has nothing to hide from the Gamemakers and other tributes, and neither has Clove. Now it’s their time to show off. Their handlers don’t go easy on them. The message is clear: you want to raise your odds to survive, you train twice as hard. Cato hadn’t expected anything less. He’s on autopilot: he effortlessly runs through the obstacles, he excels in every station involving weapons. He’s not that bad with the other blades, but he only feels _complete_ when he is holding a sword.

 

He watches as Clove’s knives, one by one, sink into the dummy – two in his eyes, one in his heart, and one in his throat. Hell, that girl throws them like they’re deadly feathers. She never misses the target. She’ll be a very valuable ally in the arena.

 

“Nice, Clove,” says Marvel from 1 with appreciation. Cato snorts mentally. He can bet Marvel’s not impressed _only_ by her skills, because he’s devouring Clove with his eyes like she’s dinner. Pathetic. 

 

“Oh, thank you, _sweetie_ ,” Clove flirts back with her smooth voice. It’s all an act. Cato knows she secretly despises Marvel, but they decided to form an alliance with District 1, and she agreed to play with him a little. Besides, Clove seems to enjoy it in her own, twisted way. A bit of fun won’t hurt. At least, not yet, Cato thinks with a cruel smile.

 

He turns his attention to Katniss. He’s been watching her for the past three hours. She’s quiet, composed, and she keeps mostly to herself. The blonde boy, Mellark, is also trying to be invisible. They obviously don’t want to attract more attention that they already have. 

 

Katniss has hardly touched any weapons. Whenever Cato looks at her direction, she’s always busy doing something at significantly boring stations. Now she’s tying the knots again, and by the satisfied expression of her trainer, she must be pretty good at it. God, how much Cato would give to see her fight.

 

“You’re looking at her again, Cato,” Glimmer sneaks up on him, almost making him cut off her head with the blade. “Should I be jealous?”

 

“Don’t do that again,” he barks, annoyed. “I almost killed you.”

 

Glimmer sends him a kiss, brushing aside her long, blonde hair. “Oh, you wouldn’t do that, would you?”

 

Nothing about her spells danger: her tone is sweet and knowing, her hands wield no knives, there’s just her smile that is too slow, too pleasant to be true. Her eyes hold the blades she’ll ever need to kill him, and Cato hates her for that. She isn’t dangerous, but they said the same of Johanna Mason, they’ve said it many times, and behind this mask of innocent stupidity, Glimmer is very lethal. Cato can feel it and he grips his sword a fraction tighter.

 

“I think you know the answer,” he avoids giving her the obvious response, because yes, he would, he would kill her without remorse when it came to it, and they both know it too well. “Besides, I’m not the one who’s obsessing over the Firegirl, it’s Clove.”

 

“I’m not obsessing,” Clove snorts. “I just can’t decide how I’m going to kill her. To make her suffer or make it quick? Maybe I’ll cut her eyes out first, the Gamemakers will love it.”

 

She sends another knife flying, and it hits the dummy square in the head. Cato shivers involuntarily. 

 

“Still, you can’t deny she’ll probably make it further than the other kids who have no bloody idea of what they’re doing here,” remarks Marvel, and this time Cato agrees with him. It’s true: Katniss does look skinny, but she can use it to her advantage. She is agile, quick on her feet, she can effortlessly haul herself up or swiftly climb to higher surfaces. She won’t be an easy catch. 

 

He wish he could say the same about Mellark. It would be as simple as snapping someone’s head, killing him. Cato almost regrets it. 

 

“Yeah, but the baker’s son is so hopeless. Like a lost puppy. Don’t you agree?” Clove seems to read his thoughts. “Pity one of us will have to kill him, he has _such_ a pretty face.”

 

All three of them snicker at Clove’s comment.

“And look at that, he can _paint_ ,” she continues, pointing at his arm that looks like bark of a  
tree. “I’m sooo afraid,” and they all laugh.

 

Mellark must have realized by know that he is the object of their mockery. And apparently so has Everdeen, because she comes up to him and tells him something in a hushed tone. Mellark shakes his head fiercely at whatever she’s saying. Cato, curious, pretends to be very busy with his sword in order to eavesdrop on their conversation.

 

“I want you to throw that weight over there. I know you can do this.”

 

“Remember what Haymitch told us?” Mellark shakes his head again. “We’re not supposed to show what we can do until they take us for the individual evaluation.”

 

“Forget Haymitch, Peeta. They’re looking at you like you’re a meal,” she insists. “But fine, if you want to be dead before you set your foot in the arena, don’t listen.”

 

“Yeah, show us what you can do, we don’t _bite_ ,” Cato stops pretending and approaches them. He can hear Glimmer’s laugh behind him. “I dare you.”

 

Everdeen freezes. She knows the last part was directed at her. Cato looks her in the eye like he’s just done something very clever, something so clever that even he hasn’t worked it out yet. Her gaze is so intense, like she’s saying back _no, I dare_ you, _just watch me_. Cato holds her glance, waiting for her reaction, but it doesn’t come. They just stare at each other. Suddenly, there is a sound of metal clashing against metal. He blinks, and time speeds up again. Apparently, Mellark took Katniss’ advice. Everyone’s attention is now focused on him, even the Gamemakers watch the scene with curiosity. 

 

“Well, well, looks like you’re not so hopeless after all,” Cato whistles approvingly at the sight of weapons wallowing on the floor. “Still, you may be strong, but that won’t be enough to stop me from killing you. In fact, your death might be more entertaining than I initially thought.”

 

“You really get off on this, don’t you?” Katniss asks, almost unbearably calm. “You fantasize in the shower about murdering tributes? You twisted, deranged-“

 

“Katniss, don’t provoke him,” Mellark puts a hand on her shoulder. “He’s not worth it.”

 

There it is again. The _fire_. That makes Cato’s pulse speed up. 

 

“You have quite a character, 12. I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” Cato smirks, trying not to show how thrilling it all is for him. “On both of you, actually. You better watch your back because when I’ll come at you, you won’t stand a chance.”

 

Glimmer and Marvel, already bored with the show, proceed to the exit. Cato decides to do the same. 

 

“Oh, and for the record, Everdeen. You’d be surprised to know the current object of my fantasies. Come on, Clove,” he gestures at her. “I think that’s enough fun for today.” He salutes them in a mock goodbye with his sword. 

 

He can hear Everdeen mouth viciously the words “sick bastard” behind his back, and he can’t help but grin. Oh, she has no idea. The more he provokes at her, the more she provokes him in return. He still feels her burning gaze on him, and it is so good. 

 

It’s funny how she hasn’t noticed it yet: Cato gets off on danger and she is the one who gives him the taste of it. 

 

“You really are a sick bastard, you know,” says Clove.

 

Cato laughs. 

 

“I think I like you,” she adds, when they’re on the hallway. A compliment from Clove, look at that. This day is full of surprises. “But I guess instead of toying with her, I’ll just stick to killing that bitch.”

 

“Well,” says Cato, still grinning, as Clove pushes number “two” on the control panel in the elevator, “where would be the fun in _that_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I told you there would be more of it coming. I hope you like it. Having said that, I' off to write another part...


	4. The Thrill Of The Chase

When the afternoon training session finishes at 6 pm, Cato isn’t tired. He’s not hungry either. It doesn’t surprise him at all. Exercise and adrenaline always make him feel restless. He also knows that he’ll be having problems with sleeping tonight, and there is only one way to deal with it – he needs to go for a run. He needs to be exhausted. 

 

While the rest of the tributes make their way to the suites, looking forward to a shower and a nice dinner afterwards, Cato extricates himself from Glimmer’s possessive arms.

 

“I thought you were joining us,” she seems a bit disappointed. Glimmer has been flirting with him all day long and Cato has had enough. To be honest, he’s bored with her company and her smiles and her take-me-here-and-now looks. He’s a hunter. He likes a challenge, the thrill of the chase, someone hard to get. Someone like Katniss Everdeen.

 

Not that he is considering the Girl on Fire, obviously. That would be ridiculous and very, very stupid of him. 

 

“Cato?” Clove is looking at him expectantly. “Earth to Cato. I asked you what were your plans.”

 

“Sorry. I’m going for a run. You know, to take the edge off,” he didn’t even realize his mind was somewhere else. “Don’t wait up for me.”

 

“We won’t,” assures him Marvel with a suggestive, lazy smile. What an idiot, he probably thinks he might get lucky with Clove, who, judging by her disgusted expression, will sooner chop off his fingers than let him touch her. Oh, Cato would love to see that. 

 

“All right,” Clove nods at him and disappears into the elevator along with the pair from District 1. 

 

Glimmer manages to send him one last, seductive smile before the elevator door close. 

 

Cato leans against the wall, glad to be alone. He sighs when he realizes he’s thirsty. Instead of searching for someone who could fetch him a bottle of water, he goes down to the patio and drinks straight from the fountain. Problem solved.

 

“You know, that’s probably not drinkable water,” he hears a voice behind him. He turns around. “Just saying, 2.”

 

“How considerate of you, 12,” Cato tries to hide his surprise when he sees her. “How strange to see you here again. You seem to like this place. Any particular reason for that?”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she cuts him short, her tone almost playful.

 

They stare at each other for a second, and then she asks, “What are you doing here? I thought you would be enjoying a delicious _dessert_ with that girl from 1, what’s her name… Glitter?” 

 

“You’re funny,” he smiles, he can’t help it. It turns out Everdeen has a sense of humor. A girl of many talents. What else is she hiding from him? “How about you? What are you doing here? Stalking me?”

 

“Answer my question and I’ll answer yours. It only seems fair.”

 

And she enjoys playing games, too. Talking with her is ridiculously easy, almost like they knew each other. Immediately, he goes back to their first conversation. It’s not entirely impossible, he might have met her during his visit to District 12. And at this point, Cato really doubts Everdeen would be lying to him on purpose. The surprise on her face when she asked him earlier… it was genuine. So why can’t he remember?

 

“I was thirsty, I didn’t want to waste my time looking for water,” he shrugs, like drinking from a fountain is something he does on a daily basis. “You?”

 

“I’m going for a run,” only now Cato notices she has a bottle of water strapped to her hip. 

 

It’s time to stir up the party a little. Ah, this is gonna be fun. 

 

“Well, then I have a proposition for you.”

 

She just looks at him in pure disbelief. 

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“How do you feel about a truce?” he continues, but suddenly this doesn’t seem like a good idea. Hell, he just couldn’t help himself, could he? Anyway, now it’s too late to retreat, so he just goes all the way. “A peace offering, just for a few hours.”

 

There’s a moment of silence. She seems to dwell on it. He can see she doesn’t trust his words. He doesn’t blame her, he would be very careful in a situation like this. Especially when your greatest enemy offers a truce out of the blue. Especially when the enemy himself thinks it’s a bad, bad idea. Damn. 

 

“You and a peace offering?” she finally asks, cautious. “Really. Where’s the catch?”

 

“No catch. A truce, that’s all there is. I’m a man of my word,” he plays along. 

 

“I never would have guessed.”

 

“Look. I’m also going for a run. You have the water. And I have some information you might find useful.” Well, he doesn’t, and even if he did, he wouldn’t tell her anything. He’s not like Clove, who will undoubtedly stab him in the back once she gets her chance. 

 

Katniss shakes her head. “I don’t trust you. Sorry, not interested. But it was a nice try, to pull me into something I might regret later.”

 

She walks past him, but Cato doesn’t give up that easily. He can’t just miss the opportunity to watch her from a close distance, to get the _feel_ of her. The temptation is too great, he’s done listening to the voice of reason. And he’s bored. 

 

“Well then, let’s just be civilized,” she stops at his words, perplexed. “To hell with the rules, 12, the ones that say we shouldn’t be fraternizing with the enemy and all that. Besides,” he pauses, as if not sure he wants to say this, “I don’t like running alone.”

 

She brushes her hair aside, Cato can see she’s considering it. “You just want to have some fun at my expense, admit it.”

 

“I would never! Your words hurt me,” Cato touches his chest, pretending she wounded his feelings. “Honesty is my middle name, I never lie.”

 

She snickers. They both know he just did. 

 

“I’ve been watching you today, 12,” he continues. It’s time to change the tactics. “You were careful not to show anything special. You’re fast, but I bet I’m faster than you.”

 

“So you do admit you’re a sick pervert,” she says half-seriously, with a spark of amusement in her eyes.

 

“Come on,” he comes closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t you want to see what your enemy is capable of? Don’t you want to see if you can outrun me?”

 

Katniss is still hesitant and Cato can’t resist the temptation of giving her one last, well-aimed push to convince her.

 

“I _dare_ you, Everdeen.”

 

She looks up at him, just like earlier this morning in the training center. And in that moment, Cato knows she accepted the challenge. They smile at each other, almost imperceptibly, but without warmth in their eyes. He’s counting the seconds. Three. None of them makes a move. Two. There’s only the sound of water rustling in the fountain and their breathing. One. 

 

And then they’re off.

 

Cato has a head start. He dashes out of the building. They are suddenly on a street, people are looking at them, but not quite seeing them, as if he and Katniss were too quick to really see, and maybe they really are. Cato speeds up to a deadly pace, he can feel Katniss adjust, slowly gaining on him, almost catching up. The adrenaline makes him feel so alive, his every cell is screaming for more, and he gives in, gives in to the moment, there’s only the wind and his breathing, her face in a corner of his eye, their mutual understanding, and he doesn’t need anything else. 

 

“Is that all you’ve got?” she shouts, and he grins, knowing he’s pushing this too far but it’s too late to stop. His legs don’t listen, _he_ doesn’t want to stop. He finished with being rational a long time ago, when Katniss appeared on the patio, when he saw her for the first time on the television screen, and maybe even before that. She’s laughing when she outruns him, and he sees her back and her braid, taunting him, challenging him.

 

It’s hot, under the city, where the people laugh, where the cars rattle. The wind is whipping through his hair, and everything is a blur, like a hazy line of color and sound. He looks at her and she shows her teeth, the fire is the edge of her smile, unpredictable and beautiful, he can see it, the breathtaking danger of it. And suddenly it’s too much, his eyes are pressed shut, there are only feet against the pavement, and he runs until his lungs are burning and his breath is ragged, and then everything stops.

 

“Well, that was…” she’s trying to catch her breath, bend in half, her chest heaving, “fast.”

 

“Yeah,” he leans against a wall of some building. “I have to say… I didn’t expect you’d keep up.”

 

“Surprise, surprise,” in this light, he notices, Katniss’ face is flushed, her hair has come undone. “And for the record, I won.” 

 

“I _let_ you win this time, but don’t expect me to be that merciful in the arena. Pass me the water.”

 

“There we go again, I knew you couldn’t be that nice,” she had a good aim, the bottle nearly hits him in the head. “Men. When a woman beats you, you just can’t bear it.”

 

“You wish, 12. Women are weak. Men are strong. It’s as simple as that.”

 

“You’re wrong. I could easily take you down,” she says with confidence.

 

“Wanna bet?” Cato rises to his feet. “You think you could?” he takes a step closer. She tenses up, as if she knows what’s coming. “You really believe for a second you could beat me?”

 

“Try me,” she spits out, her gaze is mocking him, almost inviting him to do it.

 

In a second, he has her pinned against the wall.

 

“I could snap your neck like a twig if I wanted to,” he crashes her wrists in a stranglehold above her head. She winces in pain. “I could break your fingers, one by one, until you would be begging me to kill you. I could strangle you with my bare hands. I could rip your heart off in a _second_. Shall I go on?”

 

“You bastard-“ she writhes against his body, trying to break free, and god, she’s so close and so riled up, and Cato feels the fire travel up his spine. 

 

“Because you’re so naïve to even think for a second you have the odds on your side, Firegirl,” he whispers to her ear, making her shiver, he doesn’t know if it’s because of his words or fear or something else entirely. 

 

“Let me go!” she tries to free her hands, but in vain. Cato is stronger than her and she is weak. He’s in control now.

 

He presses closer, wanting to feel _all_ of her. She makes a pathetic attempt to kick him, but instead, her thigh brushes against his groin, and he almost moans at the sensation. He’s hard, he realizes. He recoils, because that can’t be happening, this has to stop, she has to stop. His control is slipping away, he needs distance, he needs space.

 

She stands there, furious. If only her look could burn, he would instantly turn to ash. He realizes that she is not weak, not really. She could really kill him if she wanted to, and he wouldn’t be able to fight back. And this scares him more than anything in his life.

 

He blinks and she’s gone, again. Cato can’t comprehend what the _fuck_ has just happened. This was supposed to be fun. What would Brutus say when he knew about this? Suddenly, Cato looks around frantically, praying that there are no cameras around, because _there’s always someone watching_. He can’t see any, thank god, but if the Capitol has him and Everdeen on a bloody tape, he’s in deep shit. 

 

“Stupid,” he mutters. He closes his eyes and breathes in deep, trying to calm down his racing heart. When it starts to rain, he lets the water wash off the tension, the sweat and the heat, still lingering on his skin. But even when he’s back in his room, under the shower, and he’s shivering because the water’s cold, he knows: no matter how hard he tries, how many hours he’ll spend there cooling off, freezing himself to death, he won’t be able put the fire out that burns him from within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I hope you enjoyed it. There will be more Cato/Katniss moments like this in the next chapters ;)


	5. A Dangerous Man

He avoids her after that. He even stays away from the blonde boy. It doesn’t take long for Clove to figure out that something’s off, and honestly, Cato didn’t expect any less from her. 

 

“I couldn’t help but notice, Cato, that you’re suddenly so nice to District 12,” she remarks casually during lunch. “Any particular reasons for that? Please, do share with us.”

 

His reasons are pretty much self-explanatory: where Mellark goes, Everdeen goes. But he’s not going to tell that to Clove. 

 

“Not really,” he replies, but it’s hard to lie to her, because she’s watching him like he’s a pinned butterfly, all cool scrutiny. “I just got bored.”

 

“Bored?” she parrots. She doesn’t believe him, he knows it. “You don’t get bored with your playthings after one day of fun.”

 

“I’m saving all the fun for the real Games.” 

 

“You’re obsessed with her, admit it,” Glimmer looks at him provocatively. ”You’re looking at her all the time. Even now.”

 

“Do I,” he cays through clenched teeth.

 

“You always act like you want to eat her for breakfast, lunch and dinner.” Marvel joins the fun. Oh, great, thinks Cato. Just what he needed today. 

 

“Oh, so maybe I really should be jealous of the Everdeen girl,” Glimmer teases him and Cato sends her a dirty look. 

 

“She means less than dirt to me,” he says coolly. “And I would sooner fuck Marvel than fuck her. I prefer blondes.”

 

Marvel pretends to be disgusted. Glimmer laughs, laying her hand on Cato’s thigh. “Do you really?” she murmurs into his ear. 

 

“The question is: do _you_?” he plays along, taking her manicured hand and placing it a few inches higher. 

 

“Well,” she croons, “I’ve heard many stories about faired-haired men and I often wondered if they were true.” Cato can feel her nimble fingers squeezing him through the fabric of his pants, right here, in public. 

 

“Reality is so much better than the stories,” he smiles promisingly and wonders if Glimmer has any idea how turned on he is right now. Cato knows it’s all just an act. He doesn’t like her and she doesn’t like him, but who cares? 

 

“Oh, honestly, get a room,” Clove says harshly and gets up from the table. Glimmer rolls her eyes, but takes away her hand. “I’m going back to the training center. Anyone’s coming with me?”

 

Marvel follows her like a trained puppy, and Cato snickers. Poor idiot. 

 

“Come on,” Cato wraps his arm around Glimmer, drawing her close. They stroll casually across the room, making sure that everyone is watching. On the way, Everdeen sends him a look full of contempt. Cato retaliates with a smirk, but suddenly his head is pounding, and he just wants to erase that stupid smile off the Firegirl’s face. He’s frustrated, again, and he hates it. He fucking hates Katniss Everdeen and he can’t do anything about it. And Glimmer, giggling to his ear, makes it even worse.

 

He vents off his frustration during training. He pushes his limits, until exhaustion hits. He doesn’t want to be restless tonight. After that, he goes straight to the shower, hoping he will be able to finally relax and stop obsessing over Everdeen. Damn, they were right, Clove was right - it was a stupid obsession. Cato tries to think about something else, anything else, like Glimmer and her blonde hair and her delicate body. Then he thinks about the training and the arena and he wonders if there’s something he needs to work on, like throwing knives or building campfires. And then he starts inventing all the ways in which he could kill the Firegirl. How he would love to see her on the ground, begging him to kill her, completely defenseless and at his mercy, staring at him with the fire in her eyes. After half an hour, he realizes with horror that he has made a full circle back to the Everdeen girl. Obviously, this is just beyond his control, so Cato gives up and turns off the water. What the hell is going on with him? Back home, it was easy. He had his routine, he knew where he stood, everything was predictable. It must be the Games. Once he’s on the arena, everything will be simple again, he’ll kill the her and this madness will end. 

 

“You win or you die, there’s no middle ground,” he says what he always says to himself. His reflection in the mirror looks at him coldly. “And you came here to win.” _So snap out of this, bloody you idiot,_ he adds mentally, but without conviction. 

 

He puts on some clothes and heads to the lounge. It appears that no-one has arrived yet. Clove must still be training, Brutus is probably loitering in the city. Cato doesn’t care for the current whereabouts of neither Anthea nor Enobaria. The first woman makes him want to kill her, the second woman makes him feel very uneasy. Either way, he’s glad to be alone.

 

Unfortunately, not for long. Anthea strides briskly through the door, arm in arm with Brutus, followed by Enobaria. 

 

“We’ve been looking for you,” she drawls. 

 

“We have an announcement!” Anthea says cheerily and Cato sinks deep into his chair. Here we go.

 

“It can wait until everybody’s here,” Brutus says in a commanding tone, then joins him at the table and pours himself a glass. Cato would love to do the same but he’s supposed to stay focused. 

 

“You can tell me now,” he suggests half-heartedly. Cato doesn’t really want to hear it, because he’s sure that Anthea has arranged another stupid fitting or a photographic session for the papers. _Boring_. “I’m going to practice downstairs alone after I’m finished here. What is it?”

 

“You train too hard. You are already a swordsmaster and no-one can defeat you in close combat,” Brutus is probably right, but Cato only shakes his head. 

 

“You could relax, take some time off. Live a little,” suggests Enobaria. “Have a drink,” she winks at him and raises her glass, like she is reading his mind. If he had any doubts earlier, he can say with clear conscience that he really fears this woman. 

 

“He could, but I don’t think Cato knows how to relax.” Clove picks this exact moment to appear out of nowhere, along with Enobaria. “Hi, Cato.” She drops on the chair next to him. “How’s Glimmer?”

 

“I know how to relax and Glimmer’s more than fine, how nice of you to ask, Clove,” he says sweetly. “And since we’re discussing District 1… did you have a good time with Marvel after training? You’re awfully _late_ ” he strikes back, making everyone, including Enobaria, snicker. They all know about the forming alliance with District 1 and it is common knowledge that Marvel is absolutely infatuated with Clove. She goes red with anger.

 

“That’s none of your fucking business.” 

 

“No need to be so rude,” Cato raises his hands in a mock apology. He couldn’t resist the temptation of tormenting her just a little, making his retribution for her comments about him and Everdeen during lunch. “I was just asking.” Clove sends him a murderous glance, but says nothing. 

 

“Behave, children,” chuckles Enobaria. Cato briefly wonders why is she in such a good mood, but then decides he probably doesn’t want to know. 

 

“Well then, now that everyone is here,” begins Anthea, dying to tell the news, like it’s her ultimate destiny, “it’s time for the announcement! Shall I tell them of do you prefer to do it?” when Brutus says nothing, she takes it as a yes. “President Snow is throwing a feast tomorrow and everyone is invited!”

 

“What do you mean: everyone?” Cato stares at her in disbelief. He’s never heard of a feast for the tributes _before_ the Games. Organized by Snow. It’s never happened before. Cato really, really hopes this is a bloody _joke_.

 

“What feast?” echoes Clove. “What are you talking about?”

 

“A feast to honor you, of course,” Anthea almost sings. “I was just as surprised as you when I heard about it, because it’s something so unexpected, but there will be sponsors and celebrities, naturally, so you will have a chance to shine and maybe even impress The President Snow himself! Isn’t that amazing? Oh, what am I going to wear?”

 

Cato feels like slapping himself. Just brilliant. He switches off, trying not to hear Anthea’s overexcited babbling. It’s not that he doesn’t like parties – he loves being in the center of attention, but he’s just not in the mood. He’s tired with all this. Yes, he should be thrilled about tomorrow, he should be dying to meet President Snow, be all jittery and excited, but in fact, he couldn’t care less. He exchanges a glance with Clove who clearly shares his feelings. Besides, Anthea has said that everyone is invited, which means that all the tributes are coming, which means Everdeen will be there. 

 

He quickly makes his excuses. The sooner he gets out of here, the better. He grabs the water, says goodbye, and goes down to the training center. The place is empty. Cato chooses a sword, a beautiful, light blade that shines in the dark. He circles his fingers around the hilt, closes his eyes, and imagines that he’s far away from there. 

 

The training center becomes an arena. The sun caresses his skin. There’s no wind and the birds aren’t singing. Cato can feel the comforting weight of the sword, cold metal under his fingers. Nothing else exists, it’s just him and his imagined enemies. He can’t see their faces, he doesn’t know their names. They are, however, armed and silent, coming at him from all sides, dangerous steel in their hands. Cato feels the rush of adrenaline, his pulse speeds up. 

 

He does not wait for the men to reach him, he spins to his right. He’s fast on his feet. He whirls away from the first sword, he pars the second. A man in black rushes towards him, Cato ducks left, puts his boot to his back and they are down together. A third man appears and leaps over them. Cato ducks under his blade. In a heartbeat, he deflects his blows, metal ringing against metal. Cato feigns to his right and thrusts hard and fast. The man collapses on the ground, bleeding heavily from the wound. The fourth one shows up, his downcut is answered by Cato’s overhand. He aims for his legs, bringing him to his knees. The fifth man raises his blade and Cato immediately comes up with a sweeping blow that makes him stumble backwards. Under his clothes, sweat trickles icily down Cato’s chest as he presses the attack. He knocks the sword off the man’s fingers with a slash to his wrist. The attacker cries out in agony, holding his hand. 

 

By that time, Cato’s surrounded. At least four men are bleeding to death at his feet. He is toying with his sword, wearing a grin that says _come and get me_. When three men lounge at him in the same time, expecting exactly that, Cato kicks one of them in the shin, rolls right, and drives his sword through his heart. Before the second man can raise his blade, he jabs him in the arm and ducks to the left. They exchange a few blows, the air rings with the song of swords. Cato waits for the right moment, then he spins around and cuts the man in the thigh. He falters, and gives a choked cry when Cato slashes his throat with a trained motion. The third man is defending himself clumsily. Cato takes one good swing and kills him effortlessly, chopping off his head.

 

And then they’re all dead. Cato’s back at the training center, the place is again empty and serene. He leans on his sword, draws a deep breath, and allows himself a moment to savor the victory. None of it was real, but he feels like he has just ran a marathon. He missed this. He really did.

 

Suddenly, Cato hears an almost imperceptible rustle from behind. In a blink of an eye, he turns around and he finds himself face to face with Katniss Everdeen, his sword against her throat, its blade pressing into her skin. 

 

“That was really impressive,” she says casually, sounding definitely _not_ impressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, there you go, chapter 5. Please don't kill me for this cliffhanger - I know it's wrong, but the temptation was too great. I will post chapter 6 in the evening. I hope you enjoyed this one, though ;)


	6. Cuts Don't Always Bleed

He doesn’t make a single move. 

 

“I knew you were good,” she continues, as if she didn’t even feel the blade that Cato is pointing at her, “but not _that_ good.”

 

Cato blinks. “What?” 

 

“I mean, it was… amazing.”

 

 _“What?_ ” 

 

“Are you deaf?” she rolls her eyes. “I’ve just complimented you and honestly, I don’t know why I even did it, so can’t you just say thank you and take that thing out of my face?” she gestures at the sword. 

 

“Oh no, this stays right here,” Cato steps closer and shifts the blade a little so that now it is placed horizontally against her throat, “until you tell what the fuck are you playing at.”

 

“What?” it’s her turn to say it. 

 

“Are you deaf?” he parrots her, getting irritated. “Besides, what are you even doing here, spying on me again?”

 

“This is ridiculous. I’m not spying on you, I’ve got better things to do in my free time,” she replies. “Oh, the hell with it, I don’t even have to explain myself to you!” she grabs the sword, trying to pull it away, but her hand slips on the edge. “Shit!” she cries out. “You bastard, look what you did!”

 

“I didn’t do anything,” he says stoically, but lowers his sword.

 

“I cut myself!” 

 

“And how is that my fault?”

 

“Do you see here anyone else with a stupid sword?” she sends him an icy glare, but the effect is ruined when she winces in pain. “Shit, it hurts. Do you have a… I don’t know, anything to...” her voice falters as she examines her hand. “Because I’m bleeding on the floor.”

 

“You’re exaggerating, it’s just a cut-” she interrupts him by extending her hand. “Damn, this sword is sharper than I thought,” Cato can see it’s definitely not just a cut, and before he knows it, he takes her hand in a reflex. 

 

They both freeze for a second, but she doesn’t take her hand away. 

 

“It’s not deep, but you need a bandage,” he says and finds himself unable to look up. Not knowing what else to do, he puts down his sword on the floor and covers her hand with his, compressing on the wound to stop the bleeding. She hisses, but he holds her steadily. He expects her to run away, to snatch away her hand, but she doesn’t and it really confuses him. He’s never been in such a strange situation. He shouldn’t be even doing this. He should be sitting with Clove, inventing the most creative ways to kill Everdeen. But he is staring at her palm like a concerned nurse. He can’t help but notice how small her hand looks, in comparison to his own. He traces his finger along the cut. Her skin is warm, but unlike Glimmer’s, still somehow rough to the touch. She has a scar that runs vertically from her index finger all the way through her palm and vanishes just above her wrist. It looks old and Cato wonders where she got it. 

 

“Here,” he says, snaps back to reality and throws her his towel. “You can have it.” 

 

She takes it and quickly presses it to her wound. As blood flows down her hand, the towel stains with red, but in this light, the stains seems almost black, or charcoal or dark grey. Cato frowns, because it’s not right, blood is supposed to be red.

 

“What? Don’t tell me you’re going to faint at the sight of blood, 2.” She tries to tie some kind of a knot on the towel with one hand, but she’s failing miserably. “Shit.”

 

“Do you need a hand in this?” he offers, satisfied with this little joke. 

 

“Fuck off,” she growls. “And for the record, I’d sooner bleed to death than accept your help.”

 

“Then what are you still doing here, 12? Off you go,” he suggests, still unable to tear his eyes from her bandaged hand. He’s seen blood before, he’s more than accustomed to it. He wonders if she would call him a sick bastard again if he told her that he likes the sight of open wounds and deep cuts and fresh bruises. She probably would, he muses. Not that he cares about her opinion.

Katniss seems to ignore him, still fumbling with the bandage. Cato doesn’t like to be ignored. “Oh, just go and find a medic or something. I want to finish my training in peace.”

 

“You’re such a prick,” she huffs. “I hope you trip on your sword.” 

 

“Not likely, sweetheart.” 

 

“Don’t call me that.”

 

“Fine, darling, I won’t,” Cato is really enjoying her squirm. 

 

She looks like she wants to strangle him really, really badly, which is impossible to do with just one hand. He is enormously pleased with himself. He didn’t expect this training would be such fun. 

 

“Oh, I’ll show you _darling_ ,” Katniss drawls, reddened with anger, and before Cato can react, she takes a good swing with her good hand and punches him in the face. 

 

“What the fuck did you do that for?” he yells, clutching his nose. It hurts. He can feel the blood flowing down, it’s thick and hot, like fire spreading on the surface of his skin, not really burning, but making him shudder. He cautiously touches the ridge with his fingers. “I’m bleeding.”

 

“You’re a big boy, deal with it. And I suggest you do it soon, because if it’s broken, your face won’t look good on television.”

 

“I’m going to fucking kill you, 12!”

 

“Oh, I’m looking forward to it.” she sneers. “ _Honey_.”

 

He wants to punch her back, but he restrains himself. Now he regrets he gave her his towel, because he must look ridiculous with blood all over his face and his shirt. “Ah, whatever,” he mutters to himself and takes his shirt off. He must stop the bleeding somehow and it’s the only thing he can think of right now.

 

She stares at him with disbelief as he holds it to his nose. “What, Everdeen? Like what you see?” 

 

She snickers. “Play your sick little games with Glimmer. You’re not dragging me into this.”

 

“I take it as a yes,” Cato thinks he should stop, but how can he resist? She looks so funny when she’s irritated. It’s even better than annoying Clove. “But I’m still going to kill you for that,” he adds more seriously, but his words muffled with the shirt, he doesn’t end up sound very menacing. “I’ll make you choke on your own blood and I’m going to enjoy it.”

 

“The joke’s on you,” she sends him one last, dismissive glance before she walks out to the night. 

 

He spits out the blood on the floor. He hopes her hand hurts more than his nose. He can’t wait for the Games to finally begin. Then he will stop tiptoeing around her, engaging in stupid and pointless conversations. 

 

When he goes back to the suite, he is completely run-down. He just wants to lie down and go to sleep, but he needs to clean himself up first. He grabs some posh alcohol that’s left on the table. It’ll do as an antiseptic. He rinses his face with water, then he pours a little on his cut. He stares at the bottle idly.

 

“Why the hell not,” he takes a good swig, holding back a cough. His throat is burning, but it’s a good kind of pain, it makes him forget all about his nose and bloody shirt and Everdeen being so fucking stupid and punching him in the face. He smiles to the mirror, revealing his white teeth stained with blood. His face looks awful. Cato touches his nose. It’s not broken, there is no swelling, so he won’t have to go and find a medic at this hour. Thank God for the little mercies. 

 

He stares at his reflection for a long time. There are scars on his arms, thick, ugly lines, cuts from swords and knives, spears and arrows. Old bruises, that once bled hard and fast, are now white and healed. Everyone thinks he’s prefect, but he isn’t. Cato smiles bitterly at himself. Sometimes he wishes everything could be different. 

 

“No, you don’t,” he whispers, but it feels like a lie. He takes another sip from the bottle, wincing, not accustomed to the taste. 

 

The moment he lies down on the bed, he’s fast asleep. He dreams of the forest and the rivers of blood, of fires and muffled screams. He dreams of killing Everdeen, chasing her for a long, long time, through the smoke and rain. And finally, when she has nowhere to run, he sees the ghost of a sword in those slender, scarred hands, the blade aimed at him, sees himself in her eyes, and he’s impressed, and a little _more_ than impressed. 

 

“Kill me. Everything is game after all,” Cato hears himself say it, but he can’t feel his lips moving. 

 

“If everything is a game, then nothing is,” she replies, and her face is too close to his own, and she kisses him then, but he doesn’t feel a thing, just the ground beneath his body, stony and cold, he feels the hot pump of his blood, his heart to fast and too sharp and too much-

 

He wakes up, covered in sweat, breathing hard, still not quite awake, and hell, this is just too much for him, dreaming about Everdeen. It is an obsession, he realizes with horror. Killing her won’t be enough to stop this madness.

 

Cato goes straight to the bathroom and puts his head under the sink. He looks up and says to his reflection in the mirror, “Killing her was never an option, and you know it,” and his words hang in the air like a dangerous sword, suspended inches from his neck, threatening him with bloodshed that cannot be avoided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Working on chapter 7. Please have patience for me :)


	7. To Look And To See

“Look who finally showed up,” greets him Clove when he joins her, Enobaria, Brutus and Anthea at breakfast. 

 

“Morning,” Cato takes a seat next to her. “I apologize, I… overslept,” he lies smoothly, feeling still a bit jittery from last night. He clears his throat, eyes fixed on the ground and says, “Anthea, could you pass me the coffee?”

 

“Wait. What _happened_ to you?” asks Clove, frowning and staring directly at his nose. Immediately, Enobaria and Brutus follow her lead, and now everybody is looking at him. Shit, he thinks. 

 

“I was training yesterday,” Cato answers cryptically, hoping that this will satisfy her. He is, of course, wrong.

 

“And sometimes the floor can be so slippery in the training centre. Don’t you think, Enobaria?” she and Clove exchange meaningful looks, obviously enjoying themselves. 

 

Cato grips his fork tighter. 

 

“No, don’t answer. Let me guess! You had a close encounter with a wall you haven’t noticed?” she smiles at him too sweetly, a sly expression plastered all over her face. “Or did someone help you with that?”

 

“I’ll help you choke on your breakfast if you keep asking” he hisses, sending her a murderous look. “And I’m not joking, I’m not in the mood today.”

 

“Ooooh, touchy,” says Enobaria.

 

“You’re never in the mood, Cato,” Clove says with some regret. “And you have no sense of humor.”

 

“Oh, and you do?” 

 

“Can you two, for once, behave like adults?” Brutus cuts in, clearly annoyed. “Stop bickering and focus on your scrambled eggs.” Clove is about to open her mouth, but Brutus sends her the look that makes her reconsider. “Besides, we have more pressing matters at hand than Cato’s face.”

 

“More pressing matters?” exclaims Anthea in a high-pitched, panicked voice that makes Cato almost jump on his seat. “Just look at him Brutus, he looks terrible! His face is not a pressing matter, it is a matter of _life and death_!”

 

“Anthea, it’s nothing some makeup won’t fix. Relax,” says Enobaria, but Anthea looks at her with pure disbelief. 

 

“No, I won’t relax, I can’t relax! Cato must see a medic at once! You can’t possibly show up in front of President Snow looking like that!” Cato has an impression that Anthea is about to hyperventilate or to suffer from a panic attack. And it’s not even nine in the morning, he sighs mentally.

 

Cato sees her trembling lip – god, is she going to cry? – he says quickly, “Fine, I’ll go there first thing after breakfast. If this is so important for you.”

 

That does that. She sends him a weak smile. At least she’s not looking like she’s on a verge of a nervous breakdown anymore. Brutus folds his hands on the table and clears his throat.

 

“Right. Now that the problem is solved, I want you two,” he points at him and Clove, ”downstairs, at the training centre, nine thirty sharp. The other tributes are still training together, but I managed to get you the Gameaker’s permission to bend the rules a little. You, Cato, train with me, Clove with Enobaria. You have a head start, so don’t waste our time today. And behave. Understood?”

 

“Yes,” they say in a chorus. 

 

“Good. Now, Cato, go and get yourself sorted out,” Brutus says to him in a commanding manner. “But make it quick.”

 

Cato is about to get up when Anthea grabs Brutus’ arm, almost spilling her tea. “Oh, and Brutus, you have to remember to finish the training a bit earlier today. We must prepare Clove and Cato for the feast!”

 

Oh, yes, _the feast_ , how could he forget? Cato shoots a quick glance at Brutus who, like him, doesn’t look amused. Which makes a beautiful, ironic contrast to Anthea’s overexcited self. 

 

“Because I’ve already spoken to Roma and Esca earlier and they warned me that they will be needing at least four hours of preparation. And, since Cato is now in a delicate situation, Roma might need even more time to make him look decent,” she casts him a sympathetic look. “Oh, which reminds me, I have to go downstairs right now and warn her!” and before Brutus or anyone else can stop her, she is already in the elevator.

 

“Brilliant,” Clove seems to have an irresistible need to comment on that in her usual, flippant tone. “I think I’m going to go and kill myself before they make me squeeze into another ridiculous, glittering piece of shit.”

 

“How many times do I have to say this?” Enobaria shakes her head, interrupting for a second her conversation with Brutus. “Language.”

 

“You can always go naked,” Cato suggests with a half-smile. “I’m sure that way you will get everyone’s attention.”

 

“Oh, shut up. At least they won’t force you to wear something that’s pink.” She pauses and then adds, “I _hate_ pink.”

 

Cato almost pities her. “Well, too bad, I think you would look cute in pink,” he grins, teasing her a little. She huffs in annoyance, jabs her scrambled eggs with the fork one last time and stands up. 

 

“Idiot,” she growls as she goes past him, heading to her room. Cato notices her eye is twitching. She really is just an immature girl after all, he concludes.

 

Cato disappears in the elevator and goes to “-1” level, where the remake centre is. It doesn’t take him long to find a medic, and soon enough, he is seated in an uncomfortable chair and three people are fussing over him and his nose. He hates it, but he sits back and desperately tries to relax. The sooner they’re done with him, the sooner he’ll be out of here. 

 

When Cato is on his way out, his face as good as new and the bruising all gone, he catches a blur of brown hair to his left and stops. He sees Everdeen, sitting in front of a medic, who is applying some sort of balm on her hand. She looks tired and Cato wonders if she, too, didn’t sleep much last night. If she had nightmares similar to his own that left her feeling empty and bathed in cold sweat in the morning. If she was thinking about him as much as he did about her.

 

She turns her head, as if in some intuitive way she can sense she’s being observed. The only thing that separates them is a thick wall made of glass, but it feels like air, like nothing at all. Everdeen doesn’t look away and neither does Cato. He is mesmerized by her gaze. He doesn’t dare to blink, afraid of severing the connection. Slowly, people around him start to disappear, along with everything else, and after a while, everything is a bit of a blur, only Katniss stays in the focus. He remembers his dream again with overwhelming detail, his voice saying _killing her was never an option_ , his death and falling into darkness…

 

“Cato. Cato?” he realizes someone is talking to him. He snaps back to reality and turns his head, only to see Enobaria standing beside him. She’s looking at him with this mortifying intensity, probably seeing right through him, making him feel so small and transparent. 

 

“Clove guessed right this morning,“ she pauses and smiles, revealing her white, even teeth. “You didn’t fall on your nose by accident, did you.”

 

“No,” he replies calmly, because what’s the point of lying to her anyway, of lying to himself. “I didn’t.”

 

He expects her to say something, anything, but Enobaria only nods her head. Cato doesn’t understand. Why is she silent? Why isn’t she rushing off to tell Brutus about this? Maybe she’s just playing with him. Or maybe, he thinks, maybe she already knew, and maybe Brutus knows, too. _There’s always someone watching_ , he hears his words again, a warning in red letters flashing through in his mind.

 

“Come on, champion,” Enobaria lays her hand on his back, motioning Cato towards the exit. “You don’t want to give Brutus and excuse to make your day a hell on earth.”

 

When he follows Enobaria to the elevator, Cato doesn’t look back at Everdeen. 

 

Even though he isn’t late, Brutus makes his day a living hell anyway. He’s hard on him, harder than Cato would expect, but he’s glad. He doesn’t want to take an easy road. He wants pain, hardship and bruises to prove it, and Brutus gives him all that and even more. After five hours, Cato can feel his every muscle. His shirt is literally soaked, his sweat is dripping on the floor. He can barely walk, his arms are made of lead, and he just wants to sink to the floor and stay like this. Which he does.

 

“All right, get up, that’s enough for today,” Brutus offers him a hand and Cato reluctantly takes it and pulls himself up. “I promised Anthea I will let you go earlier. Besides, you have to be able to dance during the feast, or at least walk on your own.”

 

Cato freezes. “Wait, what dance? Nobody said anything about dancing.”

 

Brutus, seeing Cato’s blank expression, starts to laugh himself sick. “Are you saying you can’t dance? Oh, Enobaria is going to love this.”

 

“I can dance,” objects Cato. “I’m even good at it. I just… ” he dries himself with a towel. “I don’t see the point of it.”

 

“You dance or you don’t, it doesn’t matter. At the feast, you’ll have to make do,” Brutus says to him more seriously and throws him the water. “It will be transmitted live, so the whole Panem will be watching, including the sponsors. You’ll have to swallow your pride and adjust. Everybody has to at some point.”

 

Cato looks at him, wondering if he’s also talking about himself. However, he doesn’t like the idea of adjusting. He wants to play this game on his own terms, and he wants to win. But on the other hand, this is a great opportunity to shine, to be in the centre of attention. Clove won’t be happy when she hears about the dancing, but Cato can bet she is going to agree with him on the matter. And besides, she will see this as a chance to get her little, civilized revenge on Everdeen in front of the cameras. After all, the end justifies the means, and both of them would like to even the odds. 

 

“Roma and Esca will meet you and Clove around six in the remake centre. Me and Enobaria will meet you afterwards,” Brutus pushes number “2” on the elevator control panel. “Make sure Clove behaves and doesn’t destroy her dress too quickly, like the last time. Even if it will be pink.” 

 

They both laugh. Cato drags himself out of the elevator and goes straight to the shower. At six, he and Clove are down to meet their fate. As he predicted, Clove is furious when Anthea tells her the news, but then she’s this cooler, more composed and prettier version of herself, determined to charm the audience and all the guests. Cato must admit, she looks decent in her green dress, though she waddles a little when she walks across the room in high heels. Cato looks at the mirror – he doesn’t look bad himself. He’s wearing a tux with a green tie that matches Clove’s outfit. His reflection seems a bit more serious, his gaze more earnest and somehow a bit sad. A bit older. Is it possible that those few days here made him age?

 

“All right, time to go!” says Anthea and leads them outside, interrupting his thoughts.

 

He and Clove go first, Brutus and Enobaria follow. The crowds are already waiting, with cameras and lights pointed at them. Cato is overwhelmed by their screams and shouts and cheers, but soon relaxes. This is exactly like the first day at the chariots. Cato waves at them and people go mad with excitement, and they are taking photos, trying to break through the line held by Peacekeepers. He feels the adrenaline again. He feels invincible and he’s loving every minute of it.

 

There’s a red carpet stretched on the ground that leads to twelve limousines waiting for the tributes. Cato sees that Marvel and Glimmer disappear in the first one. Glimmer notices him and smiles. He smiles back. She looks pretty tonight, he muses, and unconsciously, looks around, searching for Everdeen. He catches the sight of the Mellark boy, dressed in smart, black clothes and looking impatient, glancing to his left. Cato follows his gaze, inhaling sharply, knowing what he will see.

 

Katniss Everdeen. The most spectacular view of his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, chapter seven. I hope you enjoyed it, despite the cliffhanger. Told you, cliffhangers are my thing.


	8. Breathing Fire And Burning Dust

For a moment, Cato forgets how to breathe.

 

Everdeen is wearing a red, sleeveless dress that reaches the floor and almost blends in with the red carpet. The lower part of her outfit is etched in black flames that seem to come alive with her every move. Her hair is let loose, swaying in the light breeze coming from the sea. The last rays of the setting sun are caressing her skin and her dress, setting the red velvet on fire, making her look even more unreal, like a living flame, a fiery bird, hovering just above the ground.

 

Cato has to dig his nails deep into his palm to snap back to reality, but he can’t tear his eyes from her. He tries to breathe again, to get rid of the unbearable longing he cannot define, doesn’t want to analyze, not right now. From afar, he can hear the crowd cheering “Katniss! Katniss!” over and over again, in a heated frenzy. Everdeen looks a bit lost, as if overwhelmed by all the attention, but then Mellark appears. They raise their hands high above their heads, like they did in the chariots, and Everdeen cracks up a bright, unreserved smile. Cato can almost feel, that in this exact moment, the whole Panem catches fire. 

 

Someone suddenly appears in front of him, obstructing his vision. It’s Clove, fuming and looking murderous. 

 

“Stop bloody staring at her and let’s go!” she almost screams through gritted teeth and pushes him towards the limousine. Cato doesn’t quite hear nor understand what she’s saying, her words are muffled, everything is blurred.

 

“Cato, what the hell, move!” she kicks him in the shin, hard. That wakes him up. 

 

“Jesus, what is your problem? I’m going!” Cato pushes her hand away and approaches the black car. Clove mutters something behind his back that sounds like “prick” and “fucker”. He just opens the door of the passenger’s seat and gallantly motions her to go first. She snorts. Cato is sure she’s not going behave nicely for the rest of the evening, she’s not going to act anymore in front of the cameras, because what’s the point - Everdeen managed to steal her show again.

 

Before he takes his seat, he turns around and meets Everdeen’s gaze. She’s looking directly at him, her expression unreadable. Her smile reserved for the cameras is now faded away, but Cato can swear he sees a ghost-like smile on her red as blood lips. It must be an illusion. He sends her his practiced grin, hoping to throw her off balance, but she just shakes her head and disappears into the limousine. Cato frowns, wondering if he’s just being stupid or really, really stupid, searching for yet another interaction with her, no matter how insignificant or fleeting it turns out to be in the end. But after those few days, seeking out Everdeen has become some kind of a habit, a non fully realized reflex of some sort. Her presence is like adrenaline, he thinks. Pure, raw, and intoxicating.

 

And now he’s talking rubbish again. With a sigh, he sinks into the leather upholstery right next to Brutus. Hell, it’s hot in here. Cato considers opening the window, but decides against it. It will be a short ride, so it’s not worth the bother. The whole thing is a bit ridiculous to him: Snow’s residence, where the feast takes place, is at a walking distance from where all the tributes are staying. They could all just arrive there by foot. But that is unimaginable - people want some entertainment, hence the limousines and frantic crowds and people running about with cameras like their lives depended on it. In some very, twisted way, Cato thinks ironically, for many of them getting a photograph of one of the tributes might be a matter of life an death. While twenty three people are here to enjoy their very last days on earth, masses of idiotically dressed-up men and women are having a big party, which will take place again next year, and the next, and the year after that. Just like that, into infinity, and everything will be forgotten, except for the Victor and his glory. Which is why Cato’s here – to win the Games and to be remembered. And tonight is the night _no one_ will forget. And Cato will make sure of it.

 

“That was absolutely brilliant!” when the car is on the move, Anthea starts talking in her usual manner, almost swallowing the words from excitement. “Did you see the crowds? It’s insane, completely mad, and they are mad for you! Oh, this feast will be the topic of the week!”

 

“Undoubtedly,” adds Brutus, composed and calm, like he’s done that a million times before. He probably has, thinks Cato.

 

“Oh, Clove, what’s the matter? Do cheer up. You look gorgeous, my dear, the camera loves you!” continues Anthea. “But they won’t like you with that frowny face, it’s bad for your image. Remember to smile and leave the rest to me, all right?”

 

Cato looks at Clove, who doesn’t comment. She’s still sulking, of course. Well, at least she’s not moaning and bitching about Everdeen.

 

“And you, Cato, you look like a roman warrior!” Anthea doesn’t stop with her praises. “You two make such a great pair! I’m sure you will look dashing while dancing.”

 

“Do we really have to?” Cato can feel his stomach tighten a bit. He can even feel his palms go all sweaty, and he rubs them against the upholstery discreetly so that no one would notice. He’s nervous, he realizes with surprise. And then the uneasiness comes. He is bloody nervous, and he is never nervous. Damn. But as much as he wants to deny it, he can’t. So he goes and does what his handler, Briggs, always taught him: he puts on his unaffected, seemingly bored mask on his face and pretends. “Dancing is so overrated.”

 

“But the audience will love it,” assures him Enobaria with a knowing smile. “I’ve been there, trust me. It always works.”

 

“I never thought I would live the day when you’ll agree on anything with Anthea,” Brutus says to her, with his brows raised slightly. “Not to mention the dancing.”

 

“Hey, don’t look at me, I’m just as surprised as Brutus,” says Anthea.

 

“But you think dancing is the stupidest thing man has ever invented! How did you put it? Ah, yes. Hopping and jiggling in front of the cameras. Utterly idiotic.”

 

“Which is precisely why the audience loves it. Besides,” she reaches to her bra and takes out a silver flask, “I’m not the one who will have to hop and jiggle tonight. Clove and Cato can manage without me. Care for a drink, Brutus? I don’t think I can endure this whole feast without support.”

 

“Give me that,” he grabs it and takes a good swig. “I never understood sobriety anyway.”

 

“You two are just impossible,” Anthea huffs, but when Brutus passes her the flask, Cato must blink twice to actually believe his own eyes. Anthea and alcohol? And she doesn’t even wince. This is getting weirder and weirder by the minute.

 

“My turn,” says Clove and snatches the flask from Anthea. When she wordlessly passes it to him, Cato just mutters, “Ah, what the hell,” and drinks it dry. It tastes awful, but soon he feels somehow better. 

 

“Now,” Anthea is back to her authoritarian, a bit annoying self. “When you approach the President, behave accordingly, show respect. Everybody’s watching. You will be seated by districts, between 1 and 3 in your case, along with sponsors. Talk to them, charm them. It’s a unique opportunity for you. And be nice to other tributes, tonight you are friendly to each other. That goes especially for you, Clove,” she gives her a warning glance. “Friendly. Civilized. Small-talk. Three words to remember. All right?”

 

They nod, but without enthusiasm. He’s going to need a word with Marvel before the feast, tell him to keep Clove occupied, in _any_ way possible. Because he can definitely see that, Clove going all rogue and stabbing a silver knife worth a fortune into some poor tribute’s hand. Everdeen’s hand, to be precise. Speaking of which, he’s curious if her wound has healed. Probably yes, but he hopes she has a scar. He hopes it’s almost invisible, but still there, still making her palm feel itchy every time she touches it, still making her remember the evening when she cut herself on his sword. They can do miracles in the remake centre, but they can’t erase a mark like this. _His_ mark. 

 

The car stops and the door opens. Cato puts Clove’s hand under his arm when they stroll towards the palace. This time, prepared for the people and the cameras, he’s conscious of his every move, every smile, every little wave directed at the crowd. Clove follows his lead, playing her part faultlessly. In front of them, he can Glimmer and Marvel taking their time on the red carpet, obviously enjoying themselves. The Games haven’t really begun yet, at least not the proper part, but the competition between the tributes is always there.

 

After that, it’s all a bit boring. The are seated at a big table and President Snow greets them all with an official speech. Cato doesn’t listen, because he gets distracted by Glimmer, who is a bit too brazen. Her nimble hands, veiled by a beige tablecloth, give him the very idea about what she wants. And it definitely doesn’t involve sitting here and chatting with their mentors and sponsors, but rather him fucking her against a wall somewhere private. Cato can feel himself going hard, even more turned on by the fact that this is in public, and everyone is watching. It’s pleasurable and exciting, until Glimmer pushes it too far by attempting to unbuckle his pants. 

 

“What the hell?” he hisses to her ear, making it look for anyone who’s watching like they’re just flirting with each other. Cato forces her hand away, not being delicate about it. “Don’t. Someone will see.”

 

“I thought you liked it, Cato,” Glimmer puts on her seductive smile, lowers her voice a little and squeezes him through the pants. “In fact, I _know_ you liked it. Shame, you could have liked it even more.”

 

He rests him hand on her arm. She likes to play with pain, he’ll give her the amusement. “You don’t know what I like and what I don’t,” he replies, tightening his grip. “You know nothing about me. And right now, you’re pushing this too far,” he takes his hand away to reach for the glass of red wine. 

“Oh, I know you want this,” she croons, twists his fingers and it’s his turn to wince. “I know you get off on this. On adrenaline, on excitement. It makes you feel alive. Don’t lie to me, it won’t work.”

 

“Unless you want to survive your first day on the arena, darling, I suggest you shut your pretty mouth or the alliance is not going to happen,” he retaliates. He can see the fear hidden in her eyes, under all this makeup she’s wearing. “Because we both know, I can take you and your blonde fellow friend in a heartbeat.”

 

“You wouldn’t-“

 

“Yes, I would, and we both know it too well. And Clove here know it too,” he lowers his voice to a whisper, “Actually, you should be more afraid of her, because, unlike me, Clove will be more than happy to carve some pretty, artistic lines on your face and then skin you alive. _Just because she can_.” His words have great effect, Glimmer takes her own drink, draining it in careful, measured sips, her hand shaking a little. “I want you to remember that.”

 

She stares at him. He stares back. The mutual understanding. “So, are wee good then, Glimmer?”

 

She finishes her drink before she replies, “Yes. Yes, we’re good, Cato.”

 

He smiles to his glass. How easy it proved, to threaten her into obedience. How weak she truly is, behind those blonde hair and confident words. And how powerful that makes him, how in _control_. Yes, he could now take Glimmer somewhere private and fuck her against a wall, until she would beg him for more. But that is too easy. There’s fun, but there is no thrill. She was right about one thing, though – it’s the adrenaline, the excitement that make him feel alive.

 

When the music starts to play, everybody is going to the dance-floor, including Everdeen and Mellark. From this close, she is more captivating that from the distance. Cato watches the pair from 12, as they move around clumsily, almost stepping at each other’s toes. But even though the bread boy seems to have absolutely no clue about dancing, Everdeen still manages to look stunning, even when Mellark almost fails to catch her when she slips. Unbelievable. If they continue like this, she might twist her ankle and that would be inadmissible. Oh, he is going to show the Mellark boy how to dance properly with a woman.

 

He’s going to show the Girl on Fire what a real dance should look like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I will update chapter 9 very soon ;)


	9. Calling His Bluff

Cato raises from his seat and offers his hand to Clove, who is speaking to a man with a carefully trimmed beard. 

 

“Shall we dance?” he asks, interrupting their conversation. Clove looks at him, seeming relieved.

 

“If we must,” she replies a bit playfully and extends her hand. Cato takes it gallantly and helps her to stand. “Lead the way.”

 

And Cato does. He knows how to dance – at the Academy they taught him not only how to use swords. In fact, for him dancing is somehow similar to fighting, but without weapons. Footwork is important, each move has its significance. It’s all about control, synchronizing with the sound of swords ringing against each other, with the sound of music filling the room. Clove also knows how to dance. Cato can see she’s not quite comfortable, being so passive, itchy to just switch the roles and take the lead instead. But this time, against her nature, she lets him take the initiative. Cato gladly spins her around and dictates her moves as he wishes. Everybody’s watching, and he makes sure they look good together at the dance floor.

 

“I knew you would be good at it,” he says, when she makes a half-turn to face him again. They resume their slow pace, watching others as they dance. 

 

“Well, they trained me well. Which can’t be said about Everdeen,” Clove cannot resist the urge to bring her up again. “She’s hopeless. I’m glad she finally sucks at something.”

 

“Hate to disappoint you, Clove, but it looks like you’re the only one, apart from me and maybe districts 2 and 4, that shares this opinion. Most of the people here, I believe,” Cato looks around pointedly, “apparently think that’s so adorable, not knowing how to dance, and yet keep trying with such determination.”

 

“Oh, the irony,” she spats, and a crease on her forehead is back. “I hope she trips over the blonde’s feet and they humiliate themselves.”

 

“Yeah, I would love to watch a recap of that moment.”

 

“Would you?”

 

“Like you really have to ask,” he catches her hand in the last moment, when she’s about to slip away. They again dance in silence for a little while, when Clove says:

“You know, about dancing. You’re not so bad yourself. They trained you better than me.”

 

“Another compliment? I’m flattered.”

 

“Yeah, shut up and don’t spoil it. I might retract it.”

 

“It still will be valid,” says Cato with confidence radiating from his every word. “You’re lucky you got me. The best dancer in here.”

 

“Oh, really, Cato. Your ego is just too big for your own good, did anyone tell you that?” she rolls her eyes. “All right, try this: if you really are as good as you claim, and dancing with me doesn’t count, because I actually can dance, how about you dance with someone who has two left feet?”

 

“I see where this is going,” he stops moving and looks at her. “And I’m always up for a challenge.” 

 

Clove flashes her foxy smile.

 

“Then you will dance with Everdeen and make it look like she knows what she’s doing. Prove to me you are the best.”

 

“All right. And what’s in it for me?” Cato can feel the anticipation. He was planning on dancing with Everdeen, but adding a bet to the equation might make this much more interesting. “I mean, it’s Everdeen. You hate her, I hate her. She is competition, besides, it’s almost like fraternizing with the enemy.” Yeah, well, Clove doesn’t need to know he’s broken the rules and he’s past that point. 

 

“It’s bullshit and you know it,” she pauses. “Oh, fine, I’ll owe you a favor,” she finally offers.

 

“Anything, anytime?”

 

“I will regret this, but yeah. But at least I will enjoy watching you suffer, Everdeen will ruin your reputation. So, do we have a deal?”

 

He pretends to consider it, but having Clove owing him something is much to appealing. Besides, how can he refuse when Everdeen’s education needs to be looked after? She might ruin his reputation, true, but that’s all the more reason to do it. The music falters and the dance comes to an end. Everybody is applauding, and people are rushing to make more photos of the tributes.

 

“Come on, Cato. I dare you,” says Clove, watching him expectantly. 

 

He grins, until he can feel his cheeks crease.

 

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask.”

 

They separate. Clove returns to her seat, while Cato approaches the pair from 12. Mellark instantly tenses up, stepping in front of Everdeen, as if to protect her. How brave, thinks Cato, but how unnecessary.

 

“I come in peace, there’s no need for that,” he says, measuring Mellark steadily. “At least, not yet,” he finishes with a suggestive smile.

 

“What do you want?” asks Everdeen, laying her hand on Mellark’s arm. 

 

“I thought it was quite obvious. I wanted a dance.”

 

Both Mellark and Everdeen look at him incredulously. Cato shifts a little, getting impatient.

 

“All right, let me rephrase that,” he gazes directly at her. “Would you like to dance with me, Everdeen?” neither she nor blonde boy reply, so Cato proceeds. “Look, everybody is looking at us right now, so I suggest you agree. It’s good publicity, anyway.”

 

“Look, she doesn’t want to dance with-“

 

“All right,” Katniss says at the same time. Mellark sends her a confused look, seeming almost hurt at her words. “I’ll dance with you.”

 

“What do you mean, all right?” Mellark whispers to her, taking hold of her hand. “He’s going to try to kill you the first chance he gets. Haymitch said…”

 

“I don’t care what Haymitch said, Peeta,” Everdeen cuts him off and frees herself from his grip. “I’m not going let anyone dictate what should I and shouldn’t do. Besides, we are supposed to be nice to each other. And I intend to show everyone that I’m not afraid of anything,” she looks at Cato decidedly, her expression harsh, her eyes flickering in the candlelight. He cannot wait for the moment when he will get to dance with her. Right now, he’s so glad Clove came up with a bet. This made just things so much easier for him.

 

“I will return her unharmed, don’t you worry,” Cato offers his shoulder to Everdeen, at the same time waving Mellark off. The blonde boy is reluctant to go, but eventually sinks into his seat. “Now, shall we?”

 

Everdeen sizes him up with a killer gaze, but follows him to the dance floor, slowly, cautiously, like she was entering enemy ground. The violins start to play a lazy song and Cato steadies her in place theatrically before he takes her hand in his. It’s soft, like he remembered, but only now he sees the scar. This makes his pulse speed up. So the medics weren’t able to erase it completely, were they. It looks beautiful, a single, white line that runs through her palm, like a lost pathway, faded and forgotten. 

 

“What are you waiting at?” she asks impatiently and puts her hand on his arm. 

 

“You never dances in your life, have you?” Cato sighs and shows her how to do it properly. He puts one hand on her waist, and then places her right hand on his shoulder. There, perfect. Her touch is so light, he barely feels it, but there is strength concealed somewhere, under all those layers of her natural tenderness. Cato can feel it, the beautiful contradiction, appreciating it more than he should.

 

And then they start dancing. Cato leads, or at least he’s trying, because Katniss doesn’t let her guard down. Her moves are bit wary, forced, out of rhythm. She makes mistakes, but her expression is unreadable, like her feet belonged to someone else entirely. The spirit of a fighter, Cato muses with delight. Why is she so intent on showing him she’s not going to make this easy?

 

“Just relax,” he says to her. “Follow my steps, I know what I’ doing.”

 

“I don’t trust you,” she answers, trying to maintain the distance between their bodies. They are close, but not that close. Cato would love to diminish the space, but that would be a bad idea. That always turns out to be a bad idea, whenever Katniss is involved. 

 

“I don’t blame you,” he looks around, and sees Mellark who doesn’t let his eyes off them. “I don’t blame him either.”

 

“Why are you dancing with me?” she asks suddenly, scrutinizing him.

 

Cato laughs. “Because you agreed to.”

 

She huffs, mildly annoyed. “Maybe I just wanted to call your bluff.”

 

“I wasn’t bluffing.”

 

“You are all liars,” Everdeen shakes her head. “Everything with you is just a game. You pretend. You play with people. I just want to know what is the real reason why you asked me. Was it some kind of a bet with Clove?” she looks him in the eye, holding his gaze. Cato feels like she can see through his mask of boredom and indifference, right through him. “I saw you earlier, talking, pointing at me. Admit it. This is all just part of the game.”

 

Cato presses together his lips. What can he say? He couldn’t help himself? It’s stronger than him? How ridiculous it even sounds, how pathetic. No, he corrects himself. It’s just all part of a bet with Clove. This is all just part of the Games. He is playing with Everdeen, and that’s it. Nothing more.

 

So why does it feel like a lie?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Chapter 10 is on the way ;)


	10. Echoes

Cato knows he’s on dangerous territory. Each time he’s having doubts it means he should change tactics, deflect, or get clever really quick. So he does all those three things in one swift, elegant move. 

 

“I was just telling Clove how beautiful you look tonight,” he compliments Everdeen, making her snort. Well, at least he’s telling the truth. She does look stunning. “What? It’s true.”

 

She doesn’t reply. Cato is a tiny bit disappointed. He was hoping that she’ll make a snug counter-remark of some sort, a one that would make him irritated and offended. He was hoping on any kind of reaction, really, anything but a chilly silence on her part.

 

“The music is fine, and so is the food. Extraordinary,” he continues. “This is a fest of the best sort. Not that I have attended many.”

 

She remains silent, trying to avoid his gaze.

 

“I have complimented the food and everything in general, now it’s your turn to say something about the décor and the people,” she looks at him then, but just for a second, only to avert her gaze again, searching for something. “Or we might dance here and enjoy the awkward silence. Fine with me.”

 

But Cato is not a patient man. After a while, the silence is maddening. Suddenly, the music is just out of tune, people are laughing a bit too loud, the atmosphere is beyond stuffy. He guides them toward the back of the ballroom, behind the columns that muffle all the sounds a little. They are still dancing, but now Cato doesn’t strain to really adjust to her moves. He then says sourly, “You don’t want to dance with me, fine. You didn’t even had to say yes when I asked you.”

 

“I’m dancing with you because I wanted to,” she finally replies, her voice steady. “And you asked me to dance not because you were trying to be nice and get some publicity. Which brings me to the original question: was it really a bet with Clove? Tell me,” her tone is demanding. 

 

“Yes, a part of a game we two enjoy to play when we’re bored,” he replies, trying to sound just that, uninterested and dismissive. “Nothing more.”

 

She shakes her head. “You’re not the sort of a man who goes blindly and does other people’s bidding. This can’t all be just a game. It can’t,” there’s a hint of desperation in her voice, and fear, and this is all it takes for him to break. It happens so fast, he only realizes it when they suddenly stop dancing and Everdeen looks at him with surprise on her face.

 

“Open your eyes and really look, Everdeen. We’re _all_ part of the game, even you,” when she opens her mouth to deny it, he makes an impatient move with his hand. She jumps, scared by this sudden gesture, but Cato doesn’t care. Not anymore. “That’s right, Everdeen. You’re a player. You’ve been hiding your skills from the very beginning. Smart, very, very smart. Hiding aces in your sleeves only to pull them out in the last moment. I bet it wasn’t you idea, but you’re executing this plan very well. You pretend. Isn’t this just the very concept of acting?” he whispers to her ear, watching her reaction. Her eyes are wide open. Cato likes her like this – vulnerable, but still not so easy to read. She looks at him, hard and unforgiving, prepared to strike back. “You know what you’re doing, and you’re doing it with pure premeditation, just like me, and Clove, and Marvel, and Glimmer, just like everyone else, for fuck’s sake. You’re no different.”

 

“You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know why-“

 

“Of course I know why. It’s so simple. Staying alive. That’s what’s on stake. Not even honor or victory, those empty words people tried to imprint into my head during all those years of training. I’ve learned what is important. The odds of cheating death, the chances to keep breathing whatever the cost. It doesn’t matter how you call it. And let me disillusion you here,” he bares his teeth, knowing he has won already, knowing that he has the upper hand. “When you finally get thrown on the arena, darling, you will kill those kids if it means you’re going to survive. You are not going to think twice when you’ll be spilling someone else’s blood.”

 

She tenses up, like something inside her snapped. “You’re wrong,” she says through clenched teeth, with all the firmness of her voice. “I’m not going to kill anyone. You’re wrong.”

 

“I’m not wrong,” he replies. “But you’re smart, Everdeen, you knew that already. We’re all just pawns in their games. We do not get to decide. Not in this life.”

 

“Of course we can decide. There’s always a choice,” Katniss says without a doubt in her statement, believing it completely. Cato smiles bitterly. She seems so young, with her faith and belief that there is a line between what’s black and what’s white.

 

“No, there isn’t. I know that, because I’ve been living each day of my life with this knowledge,” Cato doesn’t know why he’s telling her that, but something inside him stirs, and he can’t hold it in him any longer. “I know that, because I can see how small and insignificant we really are. Just specks in the universe. We don’t matter,” he finishes, and he can hear his own voice quiver a little, but he still doesn’t care. “ _Nothing_ really matters,” and it sounds hollow and so desperate he wants to deny it right away, but it’s the truth, the only truth. You win or you die and nothing else matters, and he can’t say anything that will undo it.

 

“What about the day we were running? The night we talked?” she examines him with her eyes, burning holes in his armor of indifference, and it’s just unbearable. “What about the day we’ve met?”

 

“Not this again, we’ve _never_ met,” Cato replies angrily, sending her a matching smile. So naïve, to think it mattered to him at all. It was just fun and it ended before it even started. “And if we have met, I damn made sure I’ve forgotten it.”

 

But Everdeen doesn’t know where to stop. “You told me you would. That they would make you forget.”

 

“They? What the fuck are you talking about?”

 

She ignores his question completely. “When did you go to my District? When you were what, seven, eight?”

 

“Seven,” he replies, taken by surprise, knowing he’s not supposed to even answer, just get the hell out of there. “So?” 

 

“And you started training at the Academy about that age, just after you returned?” Cato doesn’t know what just happened and how the roles have suddenly reversed. Now he is being questioned, metaphorically pinned against the wall. His whole body says _get the fuck out of here_ , but her gaze is transfixing, she has him disarmed. Cato has never felt so defenseless in his life. 

 

“All the careers begin training at this age,” he answers faintly. “Clove began when she was six.”

 

“I’m not asking about Clove, I’m asking about you,” she insists. “But just before you left on that train, you told me you were going to be programmed. You didn’t want to go, you said your parents didn’t have a choice. They needed more tesserae and the only way was to send you to-“

 

“Shut up, you can’t possibly know that!” He turns around, because it’s true: the tesserae and his parents sending him away like some king of commodity, like a quid pro quo. Their son for their lives. He feels like falling, like there’s not ground beneath his feet. 

 

“You were scared, Cato. I know, I saw it.”

 

“I. Said. Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” he punctuates every word, staring at her with hatred, hoping she sees it and that it will terrify her. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t make her stop.

 

“I won’t. I have to take this chance. When I saw you before the chariots, I couldn’t believe it was you. That I used to know you, and suddenly… You didn’t remember me and I just felt…” her voice wavers, but she steadies herself, clenching her fists. “I just had to take this chance,” she repeats. “I’m not afraid of you.”

 

“Well, you should. Like you said, I was fucking _programmed_ , Everdeen,” Cato grips her arm to make his point and she winces. “I don’t remember you, so what. I was programmed to kill without remorse and without thinking. I am a machine. Designed to kill. You can’t change that. Nobody can. And I don’t want it changed.”

 

She takes his hand and loosens his grip. “You don’t know what you want.”

 

He tries his last line of defense, saying “Don’t. I know exactly what I want.“ 

 

Everdeen shakes her head and takes his hand in hers. He doesn’t know why it is so simple, to stop making her feel pain, to just let her do it, being close. All the reason has disappeared, he just melts in her touch. It’s not acting, it’s not a game. It’s like nothing else in the world. And that this is beyond the line of black and white, it’s not even between the shades of grey. 

 

“No, you don’t,” everything in her voice says, _killing me was never an option_ , and still, he can’t admit it, he won’t admit it. Because then he’ll have nothing left, just the truth, and truth will not save him. It will be his undoing.

 

“I want to win this. I want to _kill_ you,” but it sounds like a lie, it is a lie, and it all makes it so much worse, so much more unbearable. But he doesn’t feel a thing, and yet, she’s still looking at him expectantly, with warmth that seems so consuming and a thousand times more burning than at the beginning. 

 

He has no armor left. She can see right through him and it feels like bleeding to death. “Stop this,” he snatches away his hand. “Just stop. Stop looking at me like that.” He almost adds, _you have no idea what it does to me_ , and barely restrains himself. He has the shreds of control left to repeat one more time, “I _want_ to kill you.”

 

In that moment, she is the true hunter, watching him dying slowly, waiting for the right moment. And finally, when he thinks he can’t take it anymore, Everdeen delivers her final blow. 

 

“Keep telling yourself that, Cato,” she says, softly as death itself.

 

He knows he can’t stay, because she might say something else and that will make his world crumble and burn down to ashes. Her words will kill him in the end. They will. So he storms out, to the balcony, not daring to even look back, to see her face, to let her see his own. The madness of it all.

 

Outside, Cato breathes in the dusty, summer air of Capitol. He struggles back for control, for reliance on the things he knew until this evening. He repeats in his mind, over and over again, trying to convince himself, that nothing of what she said really matters. He really wants to kill her, making himself hate her until nothing else remains, until everything dies and he will be the only one left. But he can’t get the memory of her smile out of his head, the smile saying something else entirely, laughing in his face. Those words, echoing in his head, _Keep telling yourself that_ , Cato.

 

And he does, until the skies go dark, until these are the only words he murmurs under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, chapter 10. I Really hope you liked it, and if you did, please leave a little something. I'm still working on the next part, this time there will be more Brutus and Seneca :)


	11. There's Always Someone Watching

Cato doesn’t know how much time he has spend on the balcony, looking at the evening lights of Capitol, but it feels like eternity. It could have easily been an hour or so, but he’s not sure. He wonders if anyone’s looking for him. Not likely, though. Everyone must probably think he ditched the party, too bored to stick around, or that he’s too stupid to understand the importance of attending the event. Cato has a strange felling that even possessive Glimmer couldn’t care less. And if someone noticed his absence, they must whisper about ‘that obnoxious tribute who thinks himself superior of everyone else, because how could he throw away this chance of impressing President Snow’? Somehow, the thought makes Cato glad. He prefers not being missed that being chased after. 

 

“You’re not really doing a good job of marketing yourself in public right now, Cato.”

 

He turns his head and notices a man with a trimmed beard. He looks familiar and Cato vaguely remembers seeing him earlier, talking to Clove, but the man’s name eludes him. 

 

“I’m more than aware what I’m doing, sir,” Cato replies, carefully choosing his words. “And everything I do gets me closer to winning.”

 

“You’ve managed to fool most people, then,” the man gives him the look, as if implying something. 

 

“But apparently not you, sir.”

 

The man smiles. “Stop with the ‘sir’ already, Cato. Call me Seneca Crane.”

 

Seneca Crane. The name speaks volumes. Now, Cato remembers all the rumors that circled around District 2 about that man. The most ruthless Gamemaker of them all. But Seneca comes across rather as aloof and a bit distanced, but not a cruel man. Still, that means Cato shouldn’t be talking to him at all, and yet he’s getting more curious by the minute as to why Crane approached him in the first place.

 

“Well then, Mr Crane. What do I owe the pleasure?” Cato knows there’s no point in pretending, they might as well skip the pleasantries. “Are you here to advise me on the best way to win the Games?”

 

“You love that word, don’t you? Winning. It’s your synonymy to living, the code you life by” Seneca looks at him intently. “To have such principles is a very… admirable thing. Not hiding them is another.”

 

“I prefer to have my motives out in the open,” he explains, eager to see where this conversation is going. “There’s not point in hiding them anyway. Not when everyone will discover them sooner or later, and certainly not when the Capitol, as we are both aware, is watching our every move.”

 

“Do you think they can hear us talk, Cato? Do you think they’re watching us right now?”

 

“I’m sure they are. Are _you_?” 

 

“What? Watching or being watched?” Seneca pauses, as if deliberating on the choice of words. “Sometimes it’s both, sometimes it’s none. I’m not the only one with privileges in this city.”

 

Cato doesn’t like this. He’s no match for a man who avoids giving answers so skillfully. He feels uneasiness creep in.

 

“You’re a very cryptical man, Mr Crane. But on the other hand, I wouldn’t be surprised if President Snow was watching a live feed of our conversation on a big, shiny screen in his bedroom right now,” Cato shrugs, trying to clear the atmosphere a bit.

 

“Indeed,” Seneca chuckles. “You should know however that everything the President sees comes through me first,” and suddenly, his voice is a bit more dangerous. Cato tenses, expecting the worst. “But don’t worry. For now I have no interest in your private life, Cato.”

 

“I don’t have one, everybody can tell you that,” he tries to say half-jokingly, but his trembling voice gives him away.

 

“I disagree.”

 

So this is it. Brutus was right. There’s always someone watching, and Cato’s in deep shit right now. He wants to ask Seneca if it’s true, if there are tapes, anything that would prove his utter stupidity and probably get him killed, but he’s frozen. For the first time since his childhood, Cato panics. 

 

Seneca is now standing directly in front of him, whispering. “To answer your unspoken question, yes. I have you and Everdeen on tape. I have all the recordings of your conversations. The only thing I don’t have are the detailed data about your reactions, including pupil dilation, pulse, blood pressure, breathing rate, _everything_. But we’ll get that once a tracker for the Games is inserted into your arm. Until then,” he pauses, “ you can see whoever you want, talk to whomever you please. You don’t have to worry that someone is watching your every move.”

 

That is certainly unexpected, but, paradoxically, makes his life so much more complicated. 

 

“I don’t understand,” Cato manages to say after a while. “Why? Why are you telling me this?”

 

“I have my reasons.”

 

“Then give me at least one,” Cato demands.

 

Sececa sighs and runs fingers through his dark hair. “Me and your uncle go way back, but he didn’t say anything about your difficult attitude.”

 

“You know my uncle?” Cato asks in pure disbelief. “ _What_?”

 

“I never forget my old friends.”

 

“H-how long have you known him? And why the fuck he didn’t tell me anything?” Cato shakes off the initial shock, trying to get all the information he can. That is why he hates surprises – they always turn out to be fucking ugly.

 

“Why, how, when, none of this matters. I don’t expect you to trust me,” Seneca gives him the look again, “but I’m not doing this to hurt you. I promised your uncle I won’t let anything happen to you. And I intend to keep that promise.”

 

“I don’t want your protection,” Cato snarls back, anger seeping through his words. He feels betrayed. His uncle was one of the two people he trusted completely with his life. And he doesn’t need his mercy or honoring the deal he struck with the devil. Having a friend in the Capitol? What the hell is going on? “I can take care of myself.”

 

“I don’t doubt that, but you need to listen,” Seneca doesn’t hesitate when he puts his hand on Cato’s shoulder. “If anyone sees you and Everdeen, you know what will happen.”

 

Cato knows exactly what will happen. He will be lucky if he dies. 

 

“I already had to find out how much Enobaria knows. She’s far more observant that she looks, but luckily, she had a soft spot for you,” this, in turn, makes Cato shiver. So his instincts were right – Enobaria already knew. “Yes, exactly. You have to be careful. I trust your judgment, Cato, but you must realize that dismissing it will have its consequences.”

 

“Capitol can’t touch me. You want to threaten me, go ahead. There is no one out there who loves me, and there isn’t a person on this planet whose death would hurt me.”

 

“In other words, you have nothing to loose and everything to win.”

 

“Yes,” but Cato knows the answer isn’t that simple. Not in context of recent events and Everdeen. “And when it comes to winning, caring is not an advantage.”

 

“Your uncle used to say that,” Seneca smiles at the memory. “And you’re not wrong to listen to his advice. But sometimes, having someone you trust, someone who cares for you, can prove more powerful than any weapon.”

 

Cato snorts. “You’re the one to say. You play with people’s minds every day, and I definitely do not trust you, even if you claim to know my uncle. I would sooner believe that you’re just playing with me as well, just waiting to show the tapes at the right moment, when it’s convenient for you or for President Snow. In fact, I bet you’re recording this conversation as well.”

 

“On the contrary. This conversation, from technical point of view, never existed. Just as the tapes with you and Miss Everdeen. Of course, there is no way I can show you that they have disappeared from the face of the Earth, just as I cannot convince you to trust me. But at some point, you’ll have to trust someone, Cato.”

 

“Highly unlikely.”

 

“You’re stubborn. I can see why your uncle liked you so much,” and with that, Seneca turns to leave. “Oh, and Cato?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Next time you see Miss Everdeen, please be more careful. I cannot kill every guard who sees you two together. That would be so… unethical. Until we meet again,” and with that, he disappears, leaving Cato alone.

 

He takes a deep breath. The whole situation is just fucked up. His uncle knowing that man. Seneca Crane protecting him from the inside. Enobaria having a soft spot for him and not going with her knowledge to Brutus. Him, being in the middle of this madness. And all Cato wanted to do was to come here and win, simple as that. He didn’t want to be involved in the game of shadows, conversations that never took place, silent deals discussed in the middle of the night. 

 

Cato sighs. Maybe he is just being paranoid. Maybe Seneca really wants to help him. After all, by talking to him, he put himself in danger. From a third party’s view, this all looked highly suspicious. Cato bites his lip. It was all Everdeen’s fault. If only she hadn’t volunteered. If only he hadn’t been so utterly stupid and suicidal. If only he hadn’t started to _care_.

 

Yeah, if only. Cato knows he can’t shift the blame on her. He is the one who loves danger more than his own life. He’s the one who decided that ‘caring is not an advantage’ is an utterly useless advice. He fully realizes that he crossed the line. He broke too many rules, the rules he made himself. He cares for Everdeen more than he would like to admit. He knows that now. He knows, because even with the knowledge that there’s always someone watching, that the cameras are following his every move, that the microphones are spying on him, Cato is ready to see Everdeen again. 

 

He’s ready to take that risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hope you liked it. Poor Cato. This isn't going to end well for him...


End file.
